


Do Not Falter

by harryisquirkeh



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Activism, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Liam, Bottom Harry, Compulsive Heterosexuality, Cults, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Homophobia, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Intersexed omegas, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Misgendering, Misogyny, Mpreg, Multi, O-beta Louis, O-beta Niall, Omega Harry, Omega Zayn, Omega/Omega, Omegaphobia, Original Character(s), Physical Abuse, Religion, Religious Fanaticism, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Sexism, Smut, Teen Pregnancy, Threats of Violence, Unsafe Sex, omega rights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-26 01:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15653082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harryisquirkeh/pseuds/harryisquirkeh
Summary: Hi all! Thanks for being here. I started this fic almost a year ago, as a way to deal with my own experience with being in a cult for most of my life and now dealing with the recovery. A lot of the experiences in this fic are my own, but most of it is made up, just slightly influenced. The subject can get heavy, please read the tags for triggers. This is a way for me to talk about the violent misogyny and homophobia I had to grow up with and how it affected me, the way it shaped me for 28 years and how I'm still unlearning and breaking away from the cultivated fear. There won't be any non-con, or graphic violence, although there will be a mention of covering up child sexual assault in one of the characters life and I will add a clear tw before and when I post that chapter.Harry is 16 for the first chapter of this story only which is why I didn't tag it as underage, although he is involved in a sexual relationship with a 17-year-old OMC.While you're reading, if there's anything that wasn't tagged please let me know ASAP so I can fix it. Again, thank you for giving me a chance, hope you like it. :)





	Do Not Falter

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Thanks for being here. I started this fic almost a year ago, as a way to deal with my own experience with being in a cult for most of my life and now dealing with the recovery. A lot of the experiences in this fic are my own, but most of it is made up, just slightly influenced. The subject can get heavy, please read the tags for triggers. This is a way for me to talk about the violent misogyny and homophobia I had to grow up with and how it affected me, the way it shaped me for 28 years and how I'm still unlearning and breaking away from the cultivated fear. There won't be any non-con, or graphic violence, although there will be a mention of covering up child sexual assault in one of the characters life and I will add a clear tw before and when I post that chapter.
> 
> Harry is 16 for the first chapter of this story only which is why I didn't tag it as underage, although he is involved in a sexual relationship with a 17-year-old OMC. 
> 
> While you're reading, if there's anything that wasn't tagged please let me know ASAP so I can fix it. Again, thank you for giving me a chance, hope you like it. :)

 

 

_"How could a bobbed-haired woman ever come through this Filter?_

_How could a woman with shorts on ever come through It, or slacks,_ _when the Bible says,_

_"It's an abomination to God, for a woman to put on a garment that even pertains to a man"?_

_And how can a man that thinks anything of himself, get out here and dress like the women,_

_let his hair grow out like a woman, down in his eyes, with bangs, and twirled up like that?_

_He is wearing his wife's underneath clothes."_

_-Rev. William M. Branham_

 

 

 

**Only Believe.**

 

 

It’s unbearably hot, despite the recently acquired individual seats, the fast spin of the ceiling fans and the opened back door, Harry's long brown, wavy hair is stuck to the back of his neck. The skin of his armpits slides together wetly when he reaches down to grab his songbook by his feet. He needs to cool himself down before he starts seeing black dots.

His mom looks on a bit warily, fans him with her own book until he gets a proper rhythm going and then she goes back to fanning herself. He should’ve worn his hair up in a secure bun and a robe made of much lighter fabric, but he wasn’t where he was meant to be, doing what he was meant to do the night prior. He had to pick his clothes quickly and at random and now he’s suffering the consequences. He feels unfocused and he starts pulling quickly at the collar of his robe because the skin of his neck is tingly and he can feel the sweat rolling down his chest and back, puddling at this waist and between his thighs.

No matter how hard he flicks his wrists and how quickly the thin songbook flops back and forth, he’s just moving warm, stale air around. There are simply too many people in the small building they’ve made into their gathering place. The announce of the upcoming visit from Alpha Brother Highman is part of why the attendance has suddenly grown, but Harry also knows why some estranged Alphas he’s heard his parents gossip about are back amongst them.

The mic screeches loudly for a few seconds, making the whole assembly groan and with that Harry snaps back to their pastor, Alpha Brother Mercy’s voice, loud and gruff, crackling through the speakers. Around him, people are humming in approval to whatever it is the man said last, mumbling ‘amen’ under their breath.

“Somebody asked a question. Placed it neatly written and folded in the appropriate box by the deacon’s office. I mean, I said to do it,” he shrugs carelessly, bright white mustache stretching with his grin, “I said to put your questions for our visiting Brother in the box. And one of y’all, let the devil **use you**.”

Harry’s fingers twitch and his gaze shoots down to his lap, to his jumpy leg. He knows exactly what face the old man is making just by the way he’s clearing his throat. His bushy white eyebrows must be dipped, nose scrunched, lips in a snarl. He scoffs. His wrinkled, freckled face must be even more creased, light grey eyes focused and searching.

“I could read it to you,” he continues, “I could Church, but I won’t. I assume it comes from a young person, not fully aware of The Word, or an adult that hasn’t come to their revelation yet… But that’s the subject of today’s teaching Right? Revelations.”

He walks to the edge of the elevated platform built by Harry’s dad and many other Alphas in the church, leaving his pulpit behind. Harry risks looking up. The pastor is seeking eye contact and if he keeps his head down, he’ll definitely get called out by him for sleeping or not paying attention. He doesn’t get picked, fortunately, but the preacher stills, eyes glued to a point in the distance. There's sudden silence in the sanctuary.

The whole congregation seems to be waiting with bated breath. There's only one baby crying in the nursery, one room away, probably too young to fall under the increase of Alphas pheromones that are gradually saturating the air.

Harry feels it. His muscles are lax and his breathing slows, a sharp contrast to how his mind is a whirlwind of fear, unease, and anger. He hates it. Hates that his father has his chest pushed out, shoulders squared, muscles of his jaw flexing, just like every one of his peers is doing. It's not a surprise really, just some added despair that the more time passes, the more his father seems convinced of his faith… the more he influences Harry to believe it.

Not that he doesn’t… he wouldn’t think that about the entirety of The Word. It’s THE truth, obviously, but there’s just one thing; the gender thing. There’s deep guilt attached to it, but he can’t get passed that one issue, no matter how much he prays, despite getting baptized, despite his desire of deep devotion, he can’t think of himself as a ‘she’, as a woman.

He knows those thoughts allow the hounds of hell closer to every time he thinks them, but his mind and heart cringe when people paint omegas with the same brush as women. It’s mostly the church that does it, and actually, most of the rules and guidelines of their truths revolve around keeping each gender in its intended place, according to God and not science. Science is a human field, prone to mistakes and filled with unholy people who aren’t honestly seeking the truth. Merely pushing an agenda. Harry knows this, believes it even. Probably.

He’ll try and pray about it some more at the end of the church service. The youth pastor said to stay at the altar and pray _until_ ….so he will.

His guts clench and he feels panicked at the fact that he can’t do it and the despair of what that means for his soul, makes his eyes fill with tears. He’s hot, breathless and heartbroken. A Sunday routine at this point. Soon, even the Alphas themselves won’t be able to bear the charged air. They start standing one by one, shouting back approvals at the pastor, trying to out-praise each other for the remainder of the sermon.

“Church, we know there is no such thing as women or omegas. I know God created women, yes…. He doesn’t make mistakes. I don’t know about the other thing. In this church, we have men and women. Alphas, wives and children. So imagine my surprise when I got this question and it went so…”

Harry’s fingers start throbbing and then go numb, along with his feet.

“Can women OR omegas… can women or omegas? WHAT NONSENSE?”

 

◊

 

Later, shivering in the cooling water of his bath, lights turned off, he stills feels numb and can’t make himself remember what happened in church past his Pastor’s roar.

He is not a woman. 

He asked that question. Maybe it’s out of humiliation and anger, but suddenly he’s convinced of it. He’s not a woman. God strike him.

The long hair cascading past his waist, the long robes he wears don’t change how he feels and he hates it all. He wants to cut it all off. The hair and the clothes.

There’s a quiet, but rapid succession of knocks at the door that snaps him out of his daze.

“H? Love?” his mother rattles the doorknob a little before turning it and letting herself inside.

He looks up, glad that his wet face and hair can mask the tears in his eyes. He unfolds from his fetal position a little, cups some water with his hands, wipes his face and tries for a smile. She walks in and closes the door softly.

“Don’t argue with your dad tonight, please?” she asks in a whisper, eyes pleading and her right hand still gripping the doorknob just in case.

Harry just shrugs. The fight is worn out of him for the day. Through the door, coming from the down the hall, his father’s voice booms.

“Where’s Hannah? WHERE IS SHE?” he shouts.

He’s back from the evening service, an Alpha-only meeting where only they and God knows what happens. Harry’s body stiffens at the challenge in his father’s voice, but mostly at the choice of pronoun. Not that his father ever refers to him as anything other than, but today, specifically today, it makes his stomach lurches and heartache.

“HE’S IN HERE!” Harry screams, suddenly mad.

He’s flailing in the water, slamming the water with his fists and barely sees his mother dodge out of the way before the door slams open.

“Matthew, no!” his mother tries to interject when his father takes angry steps towards him, but she can’t get passed the thickness of her husband’s arm and in seconds, his fingers are digging in Harry’s bicep, yanking him out of the lukewarm water.

“You put that question in there, didn’t you? Don’t we teach you enough? DON’T WE?” his father continues to shout, this time painfully squeezing both of Harry’s arms.

“My name isn’t Hannah, it’s Harry!” he grunts back, trying to pry himself always, pushing at his father’s chest and contemplating a kick in his junk to free himself. “And I’m not a woman! I’m not a girl! I’m not!”

He inhales deeply before lifting his arms, sticking his elbows together and bringing them down violently to free himself, a good trick someone practiced with him a while ago. He steps away quickly, arms throwing a quick succession of free punches that surprise his father enough that he hesitates for a second before charging again.

He’s lost control because the sound of his mother screaming doesn’t resonate with him. It sounds distant, his body feels distant even if he feels the impact of his fists against hard clothed flesh. Then there’s an unexpected weight on his shoulders and he feels his limbs being trapped in soft fabric before a rumbling chest presses against his back. 

He can hear that the voice of the second Alpha of the house, his older brother Charles, is vibrating with anger and oddly, that soothe him. 

“Touch him ever again,” he takes a deep breath, arms squeezing Harry protectively and stills, “I'll fuck you up.”

 

◊

 

It’s Friday afternoon and there's a preacher in town. The youth choir is to sing several hymns during the four meetings planned around that special visit.

Harry told his parents he’d be meeting up with Zayn and would then spend the weekend at his house. At this point, it's not the worst lie he's told and the febrility of being on the bus, going elsewhere, let's him skip over the implications of that easily. He's seating in the last row of seats, at the very end of the bus, in a sweatsuit, hair tied up in a bun under his hoodie. He might have also dabbed a bit of concealer under his eyes and applied some rosy lipstick to accentuate his lips a little more. He did it in a hurry, hiding in the bathroom of a cafe near the bus terminal. Nothing too apparent.

He's trying to be discreet and ease the nervous jumping of his leg, trying to go as unnoticed as much as possible. There are too many members of his congregation in his own neighbourhood; pressed Alphas and tattlers that would love to catch him dressed like this. There's a good chance he won't be caught though. His outfit could play against him, but it also makes him blend with every other teenage omega around. Still, he's mostly keeping his head down because fear is a constant friend and he'd rather avoid another boxing match with his dad.

He doesn't know how he got there, in all honesty. From one lie, to living a double life. Although in his new life, he gets to at least be called Omega, he gets to choose his pronouns and gets to dress in comfortable clothes. In this new life he's built out of lies, he has an Alpha boyfriend who seems to love him despite his prude dresses and waist long hair.  

He usually falls very short of attracting attention. With Omegas in miniskirts and booty shorts strutting down every other street, he's not a first catch for the eye of the typical Alpha. That's why his first approach by an A was a mix of anxiety and elation. The first Alpha whose gaze lingered when their eyes met.

Thomas.

He’s a pretty popular 9th grader who does theater, runs track and maybe twice, has performed with his brother as a rap duo for school shows. Harry knows that much about him simply because he makes their school proud with some accomplishment every other week, and is constantly being praised through speakerphone during the morning school announcements.

The eye contact didn't break for a bit, not until Thomas' face lit up into one of the most beautiful smiles Harry'd ever had directed at him. He couldn't withstand it, chastised himself for staring at an Alpha in the eyes for so long, blushed and bit his bottom lip in admonition.

Thomas was standing on a step, at the back of the bus and when it stopped all the students trickled out, himself included. His steps stuttered on their own as if he already knew what would happen next. He didn't dig deep and think about what he wanted to happen and just went with the flow.

“Hey…” the low rumble of Thomas’ voice had him rooted to the spot.

Harry swallowed hard before he could look up, feeling self-conscious about how he was dressed that day. His long lilac robe, his long unbrushed hair falling out of a loose bun. He'd been late that morning and had slipped on the first outfit he could find, with no time to steal a pair of pants and a sweater from his brother's wardrobe. 

His eyes travelled slowly up to Thomas' face, noticing his height, the expanse of his shoulders, the thickness of his hands and thighs… an Alpha through and through. The type Omegas would-- should fall for, and so Harry just accepted the hand that reached out and slipped a piece of paper the pocket of his jacket. His heart was beating fast when for the first time in his life an A that wasn't closely related to him got anywhere so near his chest. There was an uncomfortable swoop to his stomach that day and he stood there for a few minutes, trying to make sense of it all, watching Thomas and his friends walk slowly towards the school entrance.

This time, Harry is going to Thomas’ house. His parents took an unexpected trip to Haiti for a family tragedy. They never had the chance to do this before. Not that Thomas’ parents would object to their son courting an omega in the comfort of his own home, being progressive and all that. It’s mostly because Harry could never make himself face them. Not with his clothes and hair. They’d probably think him a freak or something. He wouldn’t know how to deal with it. He’s not the only omega in the world that has to live by certain standards. Every place has its own traditions and some are far more conservative than others. The way he lives isn't that strange, anyways. Not any more than Omegas who have to cover their whole faces. Right? In any case, he doesn't want to have to answer questions about the modesty of his clothes, his hair, or the lack of adornments. He hates trying to explain it.

He gets off the bus in a residential neighborhood, an upscale looking part of town, with green lawns and long winding driveways. The trees lining the street are tall with massive trunks and heavy branches that arch over the road. Harry feels like he’s far enough at this point to take off his sweatshirt. It’s a lot quiete here than from around where he lives. He can make out the distinct sounds of the wind whistling through the leaves, sprinklers ticking, water spraying and birds’ chaotic singing.

He takes a deep breath and ties the sweater around his waist. He only has a v-neck crop top under, but it’s late June. The weather has been nothing but warm sunny days so far, his heat is at bay and he’s still feeling a bit rebellious.

Thomas is standing at the door, shirtless, basketball shorts hanging low on his hips. Harry knows he purposely oils his dark skin. Usually, so close to Harry’s heat, it's so that he doesn’t get scratched, but for the most part, it to do the Alpha thing and make himself more appealing to his omega. Harry supposes it’s attractive. So close to his heat, it has him warm between the legs. 

“Babe…” Thomas groans, head falling back with his eyes tightly shut, just after he’s given Harry a slow once-over as he walks up the shaded driveway.

Harry cackles, at first turning away with a hand covering his mouth, but then he stops, hooks his chin over his shoulder to look back at his boyfriend with sultry eyes, before giving a slow twirl. Thomas whistles loudly, eyebrows wiggling and Harry laughs again before taking the final steps up the porch and into awaiting arms.

“Hey Tee,” he says, hiding his face against Thomas’ chest, planting a gentle kiss right on his naked sternum. 

He feels the shiver and the grip tightening around his body. Thomas kisses the top of his head.

“It’s happening?” he asks, deep voice almost nothing but a rumble. 

Harry nods, tilting his head and giving access to his neck. He used maskers to leave the house and get on the bus --he’s not keen on being stared at--, which tones his natural body odor down, especially when he’s a walking silo of pheromones. Thomas hides his face there to catch a hint of his scent. It’s been two months since Harry stopped taking the blockers his mother hands him every cycle. They talked about it a lot. Harry didn’t have a lot of insight, but Thomas was raised to be pretty responsible, evidently, so he told him everything he knows about the matter. His mother is an Omega specialist, his sister is an Omega and no subjects are taboo in his home. They’ve used protection the first and every subsequent time they had sex, and when Harry got some symptoms of pre-heat, they discussed sharing it, which leads him here, on Thomas’ doorstep.

“Come on. I made us a salad.”

Thomas leads him inside, his fingers interlaced with Harry’s, practically dwarfing them. It usually just makes Harry a bit nervous that he’s so Alpha, so big and so attentive. No, no, so needy actually. Alphas are needy creatures with big egos and big bulks which makes them navigate the world with more ease. Thomas will juggle five tables if it’s what it takes to make his omega feel comfortable around him. A trusting omega is mellow, easily manhandled, eager to give in to their Alpha if said Alpha has earned their trust.

“Kay,” Harry says, anxious again. 

He doesn’t really know why he came. He wanted to be away from home and definitely not at church with his heat coming along. At least he has Zayn who will cover for him. He lives in a household of women and omegas, they attend the same church so he’s allowed to sleep over, but he’s not in the mood for church friends. And it’s not like Zayn can help him with his heat. For that, he needs an A. So yeah, maybe he’s needy too and doesn’t want to be alone.

“I was thinking I could take you out tonight. It’s Friday, my parents are gone for two weeks, Kayla is staying with my aunt...we’re set if you really want to spend your heat here.”

“Sure. I-I’m supposed to be sleeping over at Zayn’s, my friend from church,” Thomas nods along, “I told my parents I’d be there anyway. Not sure I care if they find out to be quite honest.” Harry says, biting his bottom lip again.

He’s a professional liar at this point, but Thomas doesn’t let him dwell on it, just pulls him to their bright kitchen, at the dining table by the floor-to-ceiling windows. The marble countertops are spotless and completely free from clutter, except for a wooden bowl of fruits. There are a few plants hanging here and there, casting elongated shadows against the white tiles. Harry feels relaxed when he sees that the table is set with a vase of soft pink peonies sitting in the middle. The care to detail makes him feel warm, cared for and definitely loved. He loves that feeling, the giddiness of having someone finally look at him with admiration and respect, instead of feeling like he’s wrong for simply existing in his body.

After they eat, they sprawl over cushions in the living room, laying on their stomachs, watching TV. It’s something about the world’s tiniest wildcat and Harry’s so lost in it, that he’s barely conscious of removing his sweatpants that are getting too hot to wear and blushes when Thomas whistles at the tiny pink shorts he has underneath. He fixes his bun, making sure every strand is tucked away and Thomas’ big hands come in handy, to help him secure it with an elastic.

He goes to the kitchen to make popcorn, finding the cupboard where it is based on Thomas’ shouted directions and when he comes back, corn warm and buttered, Thomas pulls him into his lap. He goes easily, let's his boyfriend scent him while he pops food into his mouth. 

“You’re sure about staying? I really want you to, but I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Thomas mumbles against his nape. 

He chews slowly, as slow as he can until it’ll start to look ridiculous and he has to swallow. 

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, why not?” he answers, giving a shrug.

Thomas straightens, “Don’t jump for joy or anything.”

His tone is clipped and Harry knows he’s disappointed. He thought his omega would be more excited, but as much as Harry flips scenarios in his mind, he just comes up with more anxiety. He knows part of his emotions are exacerbated by the wave of hormones concomitant with his incoming heat. He tends to be more of a nervous wreck just before he has his monthly blood. Not only that, but his skin gets oily, pimple-ish and his hair gets greasy and unmanageable. It’s definitely not his favourite time of the month. Before his mother gave him blockers, he’d just have very warm days and feel feverish for about a week and then… On his 16th birthday, his parents gifted him with more liberty and he’s using their trust to spend his first ever full-blown heat with an Alpha. 

Harry can’t really jump for joy though, not when he’s been lying to his parents for the past six months and has been the total opposite of a good Believer. He’s wearing pants, lipstick, lying his ass off and on top of it, he’s getting fucked silly and knotted almost twice every week. Sometimes he’s sneaking in just in time to get out of bed with a sometimes true yawn, before having to get dressed for church, in-between his legs still throbbing. Right then and there, it's thrilling and feels like freedom, but in the long run…

Harry smiles wide, lets his dimple cave in deep and bats his eyelashes. His eyes grow soft at the sight of Thomas’ slouched shoulders, his disappointment emanating from his stance alone. Thomas tries his hardest to do the right thing, Harry knows. Not a lot of A’s are like him. Harry sees make efforts so that he’s always pampered, he’s always treated well. He can’t have him feeling dejected.

“You want me to jump in your lap? Show you happy, Mr. Grumps,” Harry says as he gets up from Thomas’ lap turns around to straddle him. Harry grinds down on his crotch and he stutters, eyes blinking quickly. His hands shoot up to Harry’s waist, thick fingers digging into his flesh, thumbs pushing at the slight pouch of his stomach.

“We’ve got the whole house to ourselves, so yeah, go ahead,” Thomas says,licking his lips and breathing hard.

He’s a rock in his pants and it thrills Harry that he did that. Tee is always so into him, into his lips and wide green eyes… he tells Harry all about it when they have sex. Harry laughs out loud when his boyfriend's grip falters before tightening again because of how he’s rolling his hips down, fingers pinching and teasing Thomas’ dark brown nipples. His Alpha growls, flipping them over, pinning Harry beneath him. He looks so huge like this, the width of his chest, twice Harry’s, same for his arms and thighs. Seen from above, he’s sure his A completely eclipses him. It’s just as thrilling as it’s scary. He’s not sure why, since it feels so good when Thomas dives in the crook of his neck, licking at his pulse and nipping at the skin. He travels down, littering Harry’s chest with teeth marks, tongue laving over his nipples, but sucking on them in alternation. He’s wet, soaking through his underwear and they both whine at the incessant friction between them, aided by Harry’s slick and Tee’s abundant precum.

 

“You’re so hot… oh my god. I’m gonna fuck you so hard.”

 

◊

 

Harry hates the idea that Omegas completely lose their shit when in heat. He’s never had a full blown one, but his mother doesn’t take blockers, given that she’s married and even in heat she gets up and cooks for them. Sometimes she’s clear-minded enough to even attend church if it’s Communion Day and her Alpha demands it of her, helped by spraying herself down with maskers. His father can be very controlling and maybe she’s just not given a choice.

He’s never been caught in a heat daze, has never seen anyone caught in one, but he and Thomas got drunk and high. Ran around the house naked, playing chase all the way down to Thomas’ bedroom in the basement. So maybe it’s that and also his own system being completely rid of blockers, combined with the fact that there is no one to listen in, no one to judge him. Just sweet, sweet Thomas, who desperately wants to do right by him; be a good Alpha.

Whatever it is, they lose track of time. All they can think of is seeking pleasure, which is truly a first for Harry, out of all the times they had sex. He’s usually more reticent, a bit guarded in sex because he’s never sure he’s doing the right thing and he's always self-conscious of his appearance. Thomas however, made him feel so wanted, so beautiful and so safe, practically worshipped, (which was a high in itself) that he completely let go. He wakes up feeling full, despite the growling of his stomach. The room takes a bit of time to come into focus, the white walls of Thomas' bedroom reflecting the morning light brightly enough to make his eyes water. He rubs the back of his hand over his eyes and tries to sit up before he remembers that he's physically attached to someone else. Which explains the fullness. 

It makes him aware of the warm body plastered to his back, the arm thrown around his waist and the hand loosely wrapped around his soft cock. His hair is all over the place, almost completely curly from how humid the surrounding air is. There's a distant sound, like a repetitive chime and it dawns on him that it's the alarm on his watch, which he usually sets to go off at 6:00 AM on weekdays. He hears it, from somewhere across the bedroom and he groans when the implications of what it means sink in.  

"Tee, wake up! Wake up! Fuck..." he says, elbowing him in the stomach harder than he actually means to.

Thomas oomphs, pulling away abruptly and Harry gasps and whines, biting into his pillow and gripping the bed sheets when the receding knot slips out of him. Thomas curses, scrambling to sit up, while Harry slips a hand to touch himself and feels the gush of wetness that's coating his thighs. He's never been this wet, but he's also never gone through his heat like this.

"Tee? You're okay?" he asks, taking a little more care to shift on his backside.

"Yeah, I--, yeah you just-you startled me. It's cool."

His back his to Harry, large and covered in welts despite the baby oil.  Harry bites down a smile and tries to manage his hair into a bun until his arms give up.

"I'm fucked anyway. Truly fucked," he laughs bitterly at the unintentional pun, "super, duper fucked."

A few seconds of silence pass before the words sink in and Thomas shouts a loud FUCK, turning around and climbing on the bed and crawling back towards Harry.

"It's Monday. Oh shit... it's Monday." he whispers, leaning over to mechanically help Harry fix his hair. He manages a semblance of a bun and sits with his legs crossed.

"Yup."

"You didn't call home?"

"Nope."

"Fuck."

"Yep."

"Harry stop. Call your mom! Now!"

"Are you crazy? Are you fucking nuts?! I can never go back home now. It's over," he says with a whiny voice, letting his Alpha pull him into a hug, "they've probably hashed out a plan to either kill me or never let me leave the house again."

His eyes burn, tears blurring his vision at the pit of anxiety that opens up in his stomach.  He sighs as they slip down his cheeks, letting Thomas cradle his face in his ridiculous hands and wipe away his tears with his ridiculous thumbs.

"Or maybe they're worried," he counters in a kind voice.

Harry can almost forgive him for his naiveté, but he's feeling aggravated.

"Have you seen how I dress?" he asks in a colder tone, moving away and wiping his own face, "Have you seen the length of my fucking hair?"

"But I love your hair."

"I HATE IT!" Harry shouts, rising to his knees, anger washing over him so suddenly that his chest flushes red and his whole body starts to shake.

Thomas' eyes widen and his mouth falls open at the outburst and at Harry's defensive stance on the bed.

"I don't get to choose my own fucking clothes. I can't even... I'm in a fu-fucking church, that says Omegas are not right, that they shouldn't exist and that they're a result of sin and corruption!"

"What? What the fuck? Everyone knows Omegas are intersex...or on the spectrum like, that they're Omegas. I don't know. How do you deny something you can see,  like... what are you then if not?" Thomas says, completely incredulous, eyebrows dipped in confusion.

"A woman, apparently."

"Okay. That's fucked up. Not that it’s fucked up to be a woman, but y’know what I mean..."

Silence falls on them again, Harry settling down, twirling his fingers while biting his bottom lip raw. Thomas pulls him back into his lap, and it's almost as good as a towel direct from the dryer on a winter evening. There's a deep rumble against his back, Thomas' chin resting on top of his head, right next to his bun.

"Can you explain it to me? Please? Sounds... sounds a bit controlling if I'm honest.

"It is," Harry says, "but my parents had me into it, joined the church when they were young themselves. So when I was born, apparently the pastor decided what my name would be and everything."

"Your brother too?"

"No just me. Alphas get to be Alphas for some reason, but not us, not me."

"So the long dresses and the hair aren't like, a style thing."

"Hell no! Given a chance..." Harry trails off.

What would he even wear given a chance? He doesn't know. His mom never really lets him pick his clothes. He has no idea what his personal style would be like. Anything too flashy or too fitted will get an Omega called aside by a deacon to be reprimanded. And as far as doing his hair, he can't even cut it, to begin with. Not even a trim. A woman who allows scissors to touch her hair is an abomination in the eyes of God. A woman who wears pants is an abomination in the eyes of God, so on and so forth. The problem is that he didn't get a chance to choose, not like most of his classmates who dress and present however they want, who cut and colour their hair at will. He has to be a representant of the kingdom of God, therefore he has to dress and act in a certain way, be a beacon. Although, his classmates don't mind calling him H or Harry instead of Hannah and will even go as far as calling out teachers who won't in his defence.

"Given a chance, I'd probably be naked all the time."

Thomas starts laughing so loudly, that it vibrates through Harry, makes his whole body mellow out as he giggles along.

"I'm for real."

"Babe?" Thomas rubs his chin down, along Harry's ear, to his neck where sweat has dried and he inhales deeply.

"Yeah?"

"When I woke up earlier and I pulled out, we sort of didn't have a wrapper on." he stammers, clutching Harry tighter, so much that he can easily feel the rabbiting heart of his Alpha against his back.

"We what?"

"I mean, we-I forgot to wrap it up."

Harry's eyes flutter close. He's numb at this point and he wills the rising anxiety away because everything is too scary to think of right now.

"I'll take you to get the morning after pill. I can take you right now if you want." Thomas says, voice earnest as ever.

Harry wants to be annoyed.

"Yeah?"

"I promise," he swears, lifting his right hand in testament.

Harry nods and flushes when Thomas' other hand slithers down his front, passed his cock, between swollen lips, to where he's still open and wet. Two thick fingertips press inside of him relentlessly, pushing to the knuckles immediately. He moans because Thomas is done making testaments and has instead devoted his other hands to pinching and rubbing Harry's nipples. Fresh slick eases the way for more fingers and makes Harry gasp.

"You're still good for it?" Thomas asks and Harry's head jerks positively.

"Please fuck me," he whines, growing breathless as the fingers breaching him slip out to instead prod at his asshole.

His Alpha flips them, manoeuvring him so that he's bent over, face pressed into the bed's soiled sheets. He's still malleable from his heat, responsive to the large hands that roam over his back, squeeze his hips and slide to his shoulders to completely obscuring them under large hands. Thomas presses him further into the mattress and leans over him, letting his big warm cock slide between his thighs.

He clamps his legs together, as strongly as his leftover stamina allows him and shudders when Thomas' huge cock rubs against his own smaller hard one, and coarse pubes tickle his cunt. His pitch rises when Thomas settles his elbows on each side shoulders and bites down on his neck, before soothing the skin with licks and kisses.

"Can I... do you mind if I finger your ass while I fuck you?" he asks, voice soft, almost shy.

Harry would tease him about it if he had any energy left to be anything but turned on. At this point, he's nothing but a mess of quivering limbs, flushed skin and desperate lust.  

"Yeah, yeah, please," he moans, breathless.

"Fuck! Yeah... okay, I'll make it good, I promise. Can I- I'll go raw okay?" Thomas' Alpha growl is underlying and it resounds through Harry, from where he's being gripped by the back of his neck. Harry just nods again, because he can sense how pleased Thomas is, from the harsher press of his hips and his own short whiny pants. Nothing matters at this point anyway.

He gets lost in the feeling of being breached, in the squelching sound of Thomas pounding into him, the repeated gasps spilling out of his opened mouth as he tries to breathe through being hit in his core with every hip trust. He squeals when wet fingers push at the tight muscles of his sphincter, rubbing and pushing until they're let in and he starts crying at the sparks of pleasure that make him shout every time his A's thick cock and thick fingers fuck into him. He can forget for one more day. He'll avoid life for as long as he can. Until it catches up to him and there's no hiding or turning away.

 

 

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